


Rotkaeppchen

by Feuermalerin



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Imprinting, Imprinting (Twilight), Longing, Oppressed Feelings, Pack Dynamics, Paul is fighting the Imprint, Paul is trying to resist the imprint, Romance, Swearing, it's complicated - Freeform, there will be some sexual content, tiny twist on imprinting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-20 12:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feuermalerin/pseuds/Feuermalerin
Summary: What does it take to recognize the One? First of all, you have to look her in the eyes. Easy. If there wouldn't be something like short-sightedness. Confusing? Oh, yes. At least for Paul. Less so for Nora, who has completely different problems anyway - an imprinting story, with lots of heart and hormones. And profanity. Because this is about Paul after all. Paul/OC AU-ish
Relationships: Paul Lahote/Original Character(s), Paul Lahote/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm late to the party. The Twilight hype ended, what, ten years ago? Has it really been that long? It's official: I'm old.  
> But that brings us to the real preface. Because before everyone jumps on the story - or cautiously creeps up on it, because you, just like me, are very, very, very slow to approach fan fiction - read the rating. I'm an adult. And I write fanfiction. For adults. For other weirdos who just can't let go of horn-aged fandoms (bless you!). 
> 
> There will be swearing. Paul - and he's likely to be the subject of almost 50 percent of this - is a hothead. He's naughty. And so is his mouth. Be warned.  
> Welcome. I will love you. Every single one of you. I hope you have as much fun as I did. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Please. Twilight is not mine. Neither are the numerous pop culture references that may or may not appear in the following chapters. I'm not making any money off of this. I just want to play. Seriously.

**First chapter: In which Paul lays the foundation for everything that follows**

**A** t first, no one reacted. Not that they didn't hear it. The engine sounds, the screech of a transmission that wasn't shifting well - who was driving a stick these days, for fuck's sake?

The whirring revs of high acceleration in low gears.

It was unusual, perhaps, but not so much that anyone cared. They had other thoughts. Other worries.

Bloodsuckers and a war neither of them wanted. A war they couldn't stop. Which drew them to the side of their enemies because the other side was their enemy even more.

They were disillusioned. The whole pack seemed as if deflated. The seemingly endless supply of energy they usually drew from, stabbed and squashed.

But then, Paul thought angry, they weren't the whole pack.

Not any more.

Not since the baby- alpha had shifted his permanent, consuming whine for the bloodsucker-loving girl to her unnatural brat and kicked Sam's ass in the process. And wasn't Paul glad that at that moment they were sitting in their pathetic human form at Emily's scratched kitchen table, hanging their heads in sync. Sam didn't like being reminded of that day. In the pack, transformed into giant wolves, they shared a mind. Advantage in almost everything except privacy. And unwanted memories.

And now Quil had changed packs too. So had Embry. Those traitors.

A new wave of very welcomed anger coursed through Paul. Anything was better than feeling betrayed and helpless. Helpless because more and more bloodsuckers were polluting their territory. Because more and more boys were shooting up as if the drinking water in the Rez contained anabolic steroids.

How many would turn in the next few days? Cuzo Sepphron was almost ready. It could even happen today. The sound that had been approaching for a few minutes, and which Paul had ignored, as he let so many sounds he perceived deliberately ripple along in the background of his consciousness, pierced his attention and made him look up.

The squeak and rattle of a bicycle approached. It was strange. That's why he listened without a conscious decision.

Hardly anyone rode a bicycle on the reservation.

"Hannah!"

It was far away and barely audible, at least with the constant high-pitched hum of the engine accompanying the calling voice. The soundscape formed a picture of the surroundings without Paul's input. It had been that way for him since the wolf had first burst out of him. Exploded, rather. In a denotation of heat, rage, fur and pain.

The heightened senses remained even when the wolf was at rest.

It was like that for all of them.

The bike stopped and was thrown down.

Paul saw Jared raise his head as well, a crease between his dark eyebrows.

"Hannah!" Closer this time, a woman's voice. None of them knew a Hannah, Paul was sure, so he didn't know who was being called.

Tourists? A few came here, though not many. Their reservation was not one of those Native American reservations. They had too many secrets here. And the weather was too bad.

"Hannah!" Panic in the woman's voice. Closer whirred the engine, than there was a sob, not far from the open kitchen window.

Brady's chair cracked loudly as he gave up balancing and it's legs made contact with the ground again.

Paul exchanged a glance with Sam, who came out of the kitchen with a concentrated expression on his face. It was this more than anything that gave them all an invisible sign. Their consciousness was so finely tuned to each other that by now they didn't even need pack consciousness to know Alpha's thoughts.

 _Alpha_. The wolf briefly pierced Paul's attention with a loyal spike of pride.

_Yeah, you bastard. That's our alpha. Glad you feel the same way._

It wasn't that Paul didn't appreciate the wolf. He loved him, damn it. But sometimes it still surprised him how ... dim ... he was.

They rose in sync. Jared, Paul, Brady, Collin, and Joshua, their newest member.

Like fucking ballerinas.

"What's going on?" Holding a dish towel, Emily stepped up next to Sam. She didn't seem worried. She was rarely anxious. Little could stir her composure. It was one of the qualities that made her so well-loved. One of many. She was a fantastic lady. Sam the bastard was really lucky. And he knew it.

The look he gave Emily was so intimate that Paul averted his eyes. Women were part of the pack. But the mystical connection, the soul mates and all that stuff, were as much mysteries to Paul as they were scary.

Shit, he didn't want a fucking sun around which his entire being revolved. Unless that sun was named Paul. And that was what his life was supposed to revolve around. Around him.

Again, he was glad for the absence of pack consciousness. However, he didn't like Jared's knowing look.

"You got a problem, man?"

Jared just snorted and shook his head. No answer needed. Besides, Sam raised to speak, which meant they all had to shut up.

"I-," he began, but interrupted himself when the engine sounds outside came to an abrupt stop and the yelling got even louder. Open car door, Paul deduced.

"What the hell?" It fell to Paul to ask the question because no one else dared to swear. Not when Emily was around. She would try to wash their mouths out. She was that kind of woman. But he and Em went way back. And she didn't even give him an outraged look. No one looked in his direction.

No one even answered him. They were too busy storming past each other to get outside. It wasn't easy. To say they were big would be the fucking understatement of this fucking century. They were beasts. They were _werewolves_. And for them to be that, they needed strong bones. _Big_ bones.

He got Brady's shoulder to his chin as the little guy pushed forward.

Paul cursed. The little shit was going to get that back.

"Hannah!" That screech again, this time so close that the hairs on the back of Paul's neck stood up. It wasn't that he was particularly worried. All the shit that had been going on lately was dragging everything else into a whole different perspective. But when someone's yelling in your front yard, you go see what the fuck it's all about.

Paul wasn't expecting a big deal. Just the normal craziness.

And he was right. Kind of. And kind of not. But it would be a while before he‘d understand that.

A girl was standing on the lawn. A rather thin chick with blond hair. In baggy clothes. Too big hoodie and sweatpants. The wind tugged at everything. Even on her: she was shivering.

She hadn't quite crossed the threshold to womanhood yet, stuck somewhere at that age between first boyfriend and Barbie dolls. Her eyes seemed huge in her pointed face and something was wrong with her proportions. She looked lost and unhappy, and not just because previous tears had reddened her eyes.

Her gaze fluttered over to them, previously busy scanning the area. A search she continued as she looked over at them all.

Briefly, Paul wasted a thought on how they must all appear to this stranger. She was so obviously not one of them, not one of the Quileute, like Paul was not Santa Claus.

A bunch of huge, half-naked guys with sinister faces.

He gave her credit for not panicking.

Instead, she did something worse. She started crying.

"Fuck me," he muttered darkly and averted his eyes, folding his arms behind his head, stretching uncomfortably. He could handle a lot. He was the guy they sent to take care of the shit no one else wanted to take care of. Something in him burned hotter than with the others. He healed faster. He turned faster. His wolf was more aggressive. And he had a wicked temper.

But tears and Paul? That didn't go together. He felt his face contort into a grimace.

"That's Seth's girlfriend."

"What?" Sam stared at Brady, from whom this oh so enlightening information had come. Then the sobbing girl again. She looked pathetic. Just pathetic.

Desperate and alone and it created an echo in Paul's gut that he didn't want there. He heard himself growl.

Just as serious plans were forming in his mind on how to remove the howling thing from the lawn without doing any more major damage on their afternoon, Paul noticed the car.

A red 4 Wheel Drive, small but far too pretty for this neighbourhood. And way too clean. With the engine running and the driver's door open.

And a figure approaching. Running. Just as the muddy roads allowed. And that was barely.

Paul often forgot how slow all the others were. All the ones who didn't have supernatural bullshit going on. Normal people and all that shit.

She must have been running since he and the pack stepped onto the porch. That was, what, five minutes ago?

Ladies and gentlemen, and here you see the human snail. In inappropriate footwear.

Paul's gaze flickered downward. No boots. Not even sneakers. Heavens, were those heels?

He snorted and dropped his arms back to his side.

" _Hannah!_ " This time it didn't sound hysterical and searching, the voice. But concerned rather. And it had been coming, and coming all along, from this woman running toward them. Or doing her best. Unlike the pathetic little slip of a girl - her whimpering reminded Paul of Jake, and as you might expect, it made Paul angry - this woman had passed the brink of womanhood years ago. Paul got a glimpse of hips and hair tied back tightly, along with a sense of vague familiarity, before Sam moved next to him. Taking a step toward the girl, who was no longer merely trembling, but had begun to sway dangerously. Even Paul tensed. An unconscious reaction to danger. Any kind of it, on any scale.

They were protectors, it was in their blood, and the impulse echoed in the bones of all his brothers. Paul didn't have to look around to know that. They were holding back because their alpha stepped forward, but they were all getting ready to catch the girl before she fell. Weren't they just a bunch of fucking cavaliers? What a load of crap.

Sam didn't get as far as playing the knight in white armour, though.

The woman reached the sobbing girl and pulled her close, muttering soothing nonsense that, in Paul's opinion, had never helped anyone. "It's going to be all right. I got you. Shh. Sweetie, shh."

He heard all her sugary words, as did the rest of the pack. What a bullshit!

But his opinion didn't count here. Paul snorted.

"Ma'am-" Again Sam took a step, this time down the ridiculous little porch steps, out onto the damp earth. Overgrown with grass, but still Paul heard the sucking sensation of Sam's weight sinking in. He was barefoot, and somehow Paul thought that didn't necessarily contribute positively to the situation.

Trouble was something he knew all about. And the air was full of it. The back of his neck tensed.

Yes, the air almost reeked of it.

"Don't you touch her!"

With an outstretched hand, a human stop sign without the red paint, the woman threw back her head and flashed a thundercloud of anger toward them. Directed at Sam, but the pack stood right behind him and was hit full on as well. Paul's confusion - he only now realized he was full of it - finally turned to rage. Maybe it was just his natural reaction to her fury. A kind of catalyst for igniting his own temper. A mirror reaction.

What did it matter, anyway?

It was only right for Paul. This was where he felt at home. Here he was in his element. Better than the gnawing echo of desperate tears. Or the hollow sympathy for a fragile girl whose thin frame was displayed now that she was being hugged.

Paul realised what was wrong with her proportions. The girl was painfully thin. _Raw-boned_ , murmured the bitter voice that lived inside of him and that he sometimes didn't have any control over.

And the arms of her friend ... Mother? of whomever she was being embraced, tightened the protective layers of fabric in a way that showed the thin silhouette of the girl's body. Paul's breath caught. How could she even stay on her feet?

He wasn't a total asshole, though many would vehemently disagree. But his mother had raised him to respect women. Only sometimes Paul chose to forget it.

Once again pity interfered with his temper running hot. Paul had to reach for the torn apart threads and deliberately knot them back together.

Sam hadn't touched the girl. Not even made any attempt. He was just doing his damn job.

Keeping order. For the pack, for the tribe, for the people of the peninsula. Even for those two white outsiders.

And Paul loathed to see his alpha disrespected. Sam worked hard. He was constantly overstepping his limits. And he had been betrayed once too often by his brothers. And betrayal tasted black. And bitter. Fucking baby alpha.

Paul snarled, an attempt by his human body to respond with the behaviours that had become instinct. The wolf in him bared its teeth. Paul tensed and leaned forward, ready to physically intimidate before he even said anything. It was instinctive. It was his way.

But Sam slowed him down before Paul could even growl a word.

"Don't." Sam motioned him to stop with a hand extended backward. And Paul obeyed.

"Miss Taylor." Sam's voice was calm and dark, the prime example of a leader, serious and calm at the same time. Paul relaxed almost instantly. Enough to realize that Sam knew the woman's name.

Brady knew the girl, Sam knew the woman. Paul's gaze sought Jared and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Jared shook his head. So someone else besides Paul didn't know who either of them were.

Good. At least he wasn't the only clueless one.

"No." The woman looked up at Sam, who had come closer as she continued to soothe the girl. She was physically smaller than the scrawny kid, which was why it was supposed to seem weird, this protective, motherly stance. But it wasn't.

She seemed fierce. A bit wild.

And again, Paul was overcome by a brief feeling of recognition. Something that resonated very deep inside of him. Not quite a deja vu. Maybe he had seen her before after all and just couldn't remember it right? He dismissed it as unlikely. His memory was as tight woven as a bed sheet. It was one of the reasons he was so resentful. He hardly ever forgot anything.

The girl mumbled something that Paul didn't understand at first. Only when he concentrated on it, he could make out the stuttering words under the sobs that had started again. She seemed to be crying harder now. As she lamented the same phrase over and over.

"He's not here. He's not here, Nora."

Nora.

Little Harpy's name was Nora. Only she didn't look like a Harpy one bit, as she hugged the girl - Hannah, Paul gathered - more tightly.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Shh, shh, it's okay."

Again, something inside Paul tightened at the sight.

"What's with the fucking drama?!" he murmured, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A shield from too many feminine tears. Unconsciously or not. He'd had enough of this shit.

"Miss Taylor, Nora-" Sam was a brave man. Braver than Paul could ever be. Sam was not afraid of tears. He walked toward them. Even though Nora was getting as prickly as a cactus.

"Why don't we go inside? The wind won't make it any easier to sort out the situation."

That's all it took. A calm voice and a hint of weather that had to be unpleasant, at least for her. He almost had them ready. Paul could see it. Sam was skilled at negotiating. It was his job to mediate. Between tribal members and the government. Between werewolves and bloodsuckers. With little punks who shot up nearly eight inches in a few months and gained sixty pounds of muscle, scared teenagers who became beasts in a short time. He made a pack out of them. Fighters and brothers. Protectors. Sam was a peacemaker through and through, and this Nora was not immune to the conciliatory sound of his voice. The earnestness in it. Not boyish charm, but competence and masculinity.

It probably didn't hurt that he was one hell of a good-looking son of a bitch.

Women liked Sam.

It was practical.

 _Women_ liked Sam. But apparently that didn't apply to blubbering, quivering, anorexic girls.

Her rumpled blond head lifted and green pools of despair accused the whole world. Sobbed reproachfully right into his face.

"Where's Seth?!"

Well. Shit.

That was a sore spot in the pack.

Really? She came here looking for the baby traitor? Paul didn't like it at all. And neither did Jared, he sensed. But Jared had a tighter leash on his wolf's collar, and Paul had never been one to find self-control particularly desirable.

"You're a little late, doll." He took a step forward, breaking Sam's loose instruction. But it had not been an alpha command, and Paul was too much Paul to let the opportunity slip away. The huge eyes of the girl - Hannah, he corrected himself - fixed him, as did Miss Taylor's. One pair moist and startled, the other wary. He knew all too well how vitriolic his voice could sound. How ironic and bitter.

Jared beside him sighed. A disillusioned sound, the verbal equivalent of a shake of the head, that accomplished nothing more than causing a dark smile to appear on Paul's face. He felt his shoulders pump up, instinctively taking a wider stance. Head raised, gaze lowered contemptuously. Created to intimidate. That was Paul.

About time little Harpy learned that too.

"Loverboy has flown the coop and won't be coming back to the reservation." He leaned against the wooden pillars of the porch, arms folded. "He's got _better_ things to do."

That was overkill and the reaction was immediate. He meant it differently than the girl would probably understand, but wasn't that exactly what he was aiming for? That Hannah was referring it to herself?

But Seth wasn't here. He had failed not only the pack, but the girl as well. He was on the same side with traitors and the enemies of wolves. And it was important that the girl knew that. That she knew what kind of boy Seth was. What kind of man he would become. She would find out anyway. So why wrap it all up in cotton-wool?

Everything about the babies - the traitors who had turned after he had - made Paul angry these days. It didn't help that Seth had hidden a relationship with a white girl, a stranger, from them. Or whatever it was that connected Seth to the girl. Something about heartbreak and teenage love and all that shit.

Paul growled. The sound merging with the broken groan that escaped the girl. She looked like he'd physically hurt her. Stabbed. A dagger right through the heart. As if he needed such tools. Guns were for pussies. He was a weapon. They were all weapons.

"Paul, shut up," Jared hissed, and Sam sent him a biting look. Sam wasn't mad at the babies. And it upset him when Paul showed that he bloody was.

"So this is your super squad, Sam Uley?" Harpy had taken a step in front of the girl, who now looked like she had no tears left. Paul didn't know if he liked the way she looked now, though. She really was a paleface. A standing dead woman. That's what she looked like. Heavens, her lips were gray.

His gaze darted over to Harpy, who was alternately trying to stab Paul and then Sam with her eyes.

_Baby, it's going to take_ more _than that._

Thankfully, Paul didn't say it out loud. Sam would have him running triple patrols. And they were barely getting any sleep as it was.

Taylor held herself as rigid and erect as an old-fashioned tin soldier figure. She wasn't particularly tall, nor was she short in any way, but Paul noticed that she was one of those who seemed taller when seen standing without reference. Simply by the way they held themselves. Or, in her case, how she managed to look down on Sam even though he towered over her by at least ten inches and could have put her in his pocket.

Everything about her seemed ... just _über_. Too much. Kind of. And it itched Paul like a damn flea. She was annoying. In that book-reading, thinking of herself as superior way that pissed him off so much he wished he could show her. By pissing. Right here. On the porch. At her feet.

How he'd love to see her face then.

At any rate. _Super squad?_ Who the fuck talked like that?! She sounded like a fucking grandmother.

"A bunch of pumped up wannabe bad boys with more muscles than brains? What the heck is this? A self-study on steroid abuse?"

Paul noticed that, at her last words her eyes were seemingly glued to his chest, before tearing her gaze away. Paul's breathing responded by getting deeper. It wasn't so much the insult itself. That had been ridiculous and Paul had been called _far_ worse. It was the way she spat it out. Again. Like she was something better. A fucking duchess or something. And on top of the annoyance her disrespect caused him, it was that arrogance that set him on fire more than anything else. His lips twisted into a grin. It was mocking and presumptuous. And only there to irritate his opposite. To please, please, please deliver the last bit that would make him run hot.

And then only an alpha command could stop him.

"Do they throw away their future for this? So they can lift weights?" She breathed heavily while gesturing wildly with her arms. "They belong in school, Uley. And I know enough about what's going on to know that it's your fault they're here!"

Her words were so abstruse that Paul thought they were a joke. Jared must have, too, because he laughed.

Taylor's head jerked around so fast that inside her brain must have been hitting her skull. Her gaze so full of indignant righteousness that it made Paul strain just to watch.

"She came, she saw, and she just spewed bullshit," Paul said, licking his teeth. He could see this was unsettling her. Instinctively, she realized there was something wrong with the sight. She held her breath.

_That's right, baby. We're big, bad wolves and you've come into our den. See how you handle that._

She seemed distraught for a brief moment. Robbed of her bravado.

Robbed. The word triggered the wolf.

To him, she looked like prey. Smelled like prey. Paul's nostrils flared and he took in the scent. Subtly. He knew how to hide the animalistic, knew the line between wolf and Paul. Knew it intimately. He just sometimes consciously decided to cross it. A little bit.

Adrenaline began to foam in his veins. He had expected this. First the noises, then the accusations. The anger of the small virago before them, bouncing off the brightly polished surface of Paul's bones and echoing in his blood. The memory of Seth. _Betrayal_ , the wolf roared, ramming against the bars of his self-control that Paul had never quite been able to anchor firmly in his mind.

And contempt on that small, freckled face.

The wolf longed to teach her a lesson. To scare her. And the man ... well, he wanted to put her over his knee.

The image Paul popped into his head was as sudden as the physical reaction to it.

He got hard.

That in itself was not so unusual. Fighting, violence, adrenaline, sex. With him, all of that seemed to be close together. As if once his blood boiled, it couldn't decide where it was needed. Red and urgent.

Yet it surprised him. So much so that he let the moment pass and she regained her courage. Brave girl. She pushed aside her fear, which must have come out of nowhere for her as much as his hard-on had for him. Paul could still smell her, it was what made the wolf fight for control.

But she continued to rake her gaze over their heads, the final judgment on the Rez's lawn.

In the form of a small dragon in mismatched clothing.

He only noticed it now, while he looked at her more closely - thanks to his surprised physical reaction, his attention was now riveted differently. She was dressed like a secretary. Pantyhose, skirt, the silliest shoes he had ever seen on a woman's feet. At least on the reservation. And one of those jackets that was supposed to be fashionable, no doubt. Paul was no expert, but he found shoulder pads creepy.

Her whole appearance screamed _frigidity_. And his finger groaned at turning all that tidiness into pure, pure chaos.

Unfortunately, she didn't even notice the shameless way he was checking her out. She was too busy setting her sights on Collin all at once.

"What’s going on, Collin? What are you _doing_ here!"

Paul turned his head briefly to look at his brother. It surprised Paul that the little virago had addressed Collin by his name. Collin did his best not to cringe under her gaze. But so singled out, all the focus of her indignation on him, was too hard for the little guy. Paul saw Collin blush and then lower his head.

It was enough to make Paul see red again.

She didn't have the right to come here and dump her bullshit on them. And he certainly wasn't going to let her make his brothers feel bad.

"Hey, lady-" he began, but she ignored him. Her face changed, the accusation blurring on her features. Instead, she now looked concerned.

"What about college, huh?" she asked, taking a step toward Collin. Alarmed, Paul looked to his alpha. But Sam's gaze was fixed on Hannah, who, without the Dragon Lady's arms holding her, now looked again as if she would fall over at any moment.

Who were these two? And why had they completely stirred up the whole pack in such a short time?

"Do you remember what you told me? Do you remember it? Or did he talk you out of it?!" Her gaze flickered over to Sam, then back to Collin, who was staring at his feet.

"It's not too late. Really, it's not. But you need to get back to school. I can't help you if you don't."

That's what this was all about? The damn school? Paul laughed. It was a dark laugh. Loud and hard and not amused. The dragon lady sent him a dark look.

She was about to start her bullshit again, but Collin shook his head.

"No, Miss Taylor. This is the last place I need to be." He hitched his shoulders and straightened. Unrolled every one of his six feet and two inches. "I'm needed here. With my ... with the others. If you knew, you''d understand."

The corners of Paul's mouth curled as he regarded the puppy with a proud look. That was exactly how it was. He was needed here. In the pack. And the little guy had caught himself just in time not to reveal that very secret.

Actually, it was the order of the Alpha that prevented them all from doing so. And again it had been proven how important this command was.

While Collin seemed to grow, the secretary shrank. She considered Collin with a worried look for a few moments, then focused on Sam again.

"This is on your shoulders, Sam Uley." Her voice was hard. And reproachful.

And she was so right. Albeit in the wrong way. It was on Sam's shoulders. And he carried it with the same stoic responsibility with which he shouldered all the other shit.

The Alpha calmly returned the secretary's gaze. He picked his battles and this one wasn't worth his energy.

"Sam? "It was Emily's voice calling to him from the kitchen window.

Heads turned in her direction, but Em remained unfazed.

"Bring them in, they're about to get blown away out there."

A calculating expression flitted across Sam's face as he averted his eyes from his woman.

He looked at the catatonic girl in his front yard and then at the dragon lady, who had also turned her attention back to Hannah. A hen and her chick.

"You heard the lady." Sam nodded toward the house. "You guys can warm up and we can talk about Seth."

Paul stared at him. Surprised by his alpha's words. Why was he doing this? Inviting strangers into the house. Talk about Seth? Sam didn't owe the outsiders an explanation. He was alpha. He was chief.

Despite all her bitching, the secretary seemed to be wondering the same thing, because Paul saw her eyebrows draw together briefly. The exact moment she gave up was evident. It occurred when she looked at Hannah, who was by now shivering so pathetically that even Paul felt cold watching her. Only literally, of course. He was never cold. Never. Nada.

"Come on."

The summons lacked the steely quality Sam wove into his voice in his orders for the pack. It was probably what got the secretary going in the end.

"Fine," she said with a sigh, and gently grasped Hannah's arm.

"We're going to listen to what Sam Uley knows about Seth, all right, sweetie?" She smiled an encouraging smile that managed to make Hannah' lips twitch as well. A tiny bit of light had returned to her eyes. But it was a feverish glow. It seemed dull and sick and too hopeful.

The secretary saw it, too. And she murmured softly to herself as she led her charge along beside her.

Too quiet for human ears, loud enough for those of the pack. It was nothing very nice.

Paul grinned.

His blood was still churning. He could feel the heat, the roaring and pounding. But the anger ... he'd lost that somehow, sometime in the last few minutes. Maybe it had been hiding in his cock. Because that was still hard as a rock.

The secretary stopped short as she let Hannah proceed up the small steps to the porch, her eyes fixed firmly on the little girl's back. Sharp as a hawk. She was just waiting for a stumble.

The others had moved to let her through. A lithe, synchronized shift of backs. Space for Sam to hold the door open.

"Shoes off, the mud outside is terrible," Emily called, her voice heard simultaneously through the open kitchen window and the screen door. "And tell the gang I need firewood, Sam."

Emily didn't need firewood. Hardly any of the reservation's residents ever needed firewood. Chopping it, was something of the pack's national sport. Sam's idea. It kept all their tempers under control. It was a good job. Chopping wood. Good for releasing tension. Clear the head.

It was also a code word for when the pack should _get the hell away_.

Sam looked at Jared and the beta responded with a nod. "You heard him. Go make yourselves useful."

That was the code word for _patrol_. _Right_ _now!_

The secretary watched Colin and Brady's departure with furrowed brows and thoughtful eyes. But the concern in them was probably attributable to the social service she was trying to push here, not to the fact that the two musclemen were moving with as little noise as a butterfly.

The little one, Hannah, was pulled into the house by Emily, head hanging like a drenched dog.

Once again Paul wondered what this fuss was about. What was Sam going to tell the two intruders? He had to expect more from a conversation than from a banishment from the reservation.

It bothered Paul that he had been ordered to leave. Normally, he wouldn't give a shit. But there was something about the secretary that made him pause. His gaze wandered from Sam, who was communicating wordlessly with his woman in that endlessly annoying, sickeningly sweet, intimate way that triggered Paul's gag reflex, to the small figure just a leap away. He liked measuring his world in leaps. Five over to the garden shed behind Sam's house. Fifteen to the secretary's parked car. Whose engine was still running.

How would she react if he turned now? A jump and a crack, the ripping of shorts and an eruption of fur. Would she scream? Would she faint without a word? What type of terrified would she be?

It was an interesting pastime and his amusement had to form an aura that attracted her attention. Her gaze flickered from the open door where she had been watching her charge, to him.

To Paul.

Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed that he was staring at her. There was probably no other word for it, because this time Paul was really _looking_ at her.

He noticed that her eyes were blue. The pupils dilated from adrenaline, anger, worry, or whatever the fuel was for her engine, so the colour had been indistinguishable from farther away. Now Paul even saw the small disturbing refraction of light on the shimmering whites of her eyes. Contact lenses.

Had to suck not being able to see properly.

But the mocking laugh didn't really want to develop.

It was due to her gaze. The way it collided with his. The first time they really looked at each other. She had avoided his gaze before. Why?

21\. 22. 23. Paul blinked. This time it was clear. Maybe it was her closeness, her scent mingling with that of the pack and the house. The wolf smelled "home" and she was in the middle of it. Salty, sweet scent of women's skin. A soft and juicy note emanated from her that simultaneously relaxed and excited him. It probably didn't help that he still had a boner. That always directed those kinds of scents to the lower half of his body.

It had to be because of that that the wolf stretched and cooed pleasantly.

What the hell?!

She smelled good, okay. Even better, because her scent mixed with the pack's.

Completely over the top was his reaction. Paul felt like his body was a fuse. Not only about to blow up dynamite, but annoyed by the tiny sparks his skin was catching. Little sensory misfires. Plus the feeling that this was a memory, when it obviously wasn't.

It confused Paul. It confused the wolf. It drove Paul to do something. Anything. To attract her attention. More than just catching her eye.

 _Look at us_ , the wolf seemed to growl. _Look at me and admire me. Look at me, or I'll bite you._

Paul frowned and did not move. Against his habit, he decided not to let the wolf have his way, because he was obviously completely out of his mind.

Instead, he looked at the secretary more closely. The fluttering of the delicate lines of her neck as she swallowed. The rapidly beating pulse, a hypnotic rhythm a millisecond after her heartbeat. Fast, too. Excited. Nervous. She was _definitely_ nervous.

But her face showed none of that. It looked purposeful. Determined.

A little general on his way to the drill. Paul grinned. And her gaze flickered a little.

He was a scary bastard when he showed teeth. And she wasn't so tough that she was immune to it. She'd shown that the first time.

The fact that she tightened her small shoulders was a testament to her courage.

"Hey, Paul. Let's go, man!"

When Jared called out, Paul usually followed. But something was holding him down. An increasingly intense reluctance to take his eyes off the secretary, whose heart was beating faster and faster and whose scent was becoming more intoxicating. The wolf began to yip.

"Paul!"

Paul narrowed his eyes, on the verge of growling. Shit. They should just leave him alone.

The sun chose this moment to break through the dense sea of clouds that the wind had been pushing all day. Chose it for its brief reminder _Hey, you poor fuckers, I'm still here_ , bathing the surroundings in soft, golden afternoon light. Made everything a little less dull.

And it conjured firelight on the secretary's hair.

It was red. Her hair.

Because of her kamikaze hairdo, it was hard to see, tied back as tightly as it was. But the sun set it ablaze, revealing the truth.

Rich mahogany. Dark and luminous.

Paul held his breath.

Red.

Holy shit.

Little Red Riding Hood in the midst of the big, bad wolves.

Wasn't that so fucked up, that it was awesome?

~ mit Feuer gemalt


	2. Chapter 2

**Second chapter: In which Paul notices the glasses**

" **W** ell, that was strange ..."

Paul knew that tone. And even though he pretty much knew what Jared was alluding to, Paul wouldn't hand it to him on a silver platter.

"What is it you want to say, Jared?!"

"You and the little school counsellor."

Paul stopped, a sharp flash in his chest. "How the fuck does everybody here know who the little minx is?"

Jared snorted. It was his way of laughing when he wanted to mock someone. Paul punched him, right in the middle of his deltoid. Jared didn't even rub his shoulder. " Everybody but you, you mean."

Paul pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and thrust his lower jaw forward.

'Okay. Fine, then. He didn't give a shit anyway.

"Whatever."

He started moving again. Sauntered towards the car that Little Red had left. And whose engine was still running. She was either pretty oblivious or pretty stupid. A small crowd of kids had formed around the shiny car. Mostly boys. Paul made them fuck off with a look.

Jared threw his arm on the roof of the little red Suzuki and put on a knowing look. 'Moron.

Paul raised his eyebrows menacingly. 'Spit it out already, asshole.

Much of their communication usually remained wordless. It was a matter of habit.

Jared grinned and Paul cracked his neck.

"Exhausting women. Nothing else."

He opened the car door and squeezed into the tiny cab of the 4Wheel. In here the smell of the secretary was so strong that Paul stopped breathing for a moment.

How else was he going to get rid of this hard-on. Because that was getting really annoying.

Walking was hardly possible with a boner like that. And the shorts that everyone in the pack preferred to wear - tear-proof, cheap and available on every corner, therefore easy to replace - were not ideal for hiding it.

Paul reached for the car key and turned off the engine. Sure enough. A stick shift car. Now that was something you didn't see every day.

"Exhausting women?" Jared laughed. "What's the matter, man! Did you swallow a dictionary or something?"

Paul expelled air between his teeth in disapproval. "Your momma called yesterday and whined all over me about her little darling having such a filthy mouth. She made me promise I wouldn't swear in front of you ever again." After a quick look around the sparkling clean interior of the car, Paul jammed the car key behind the light shield of the driver's seat. He didn't let the pendant disappear completely so that Red would see the key immediately. Dangling from the short chain was a paw-licking kitten. Paul shook his head.

Of course.

With a groan, he straightened and sneered at Jared.

"I'm playing chaperone to a mama's boy."

It was a running joke among them that Paul was the biggest mama's boy in the pack - his mom simply was best - so Jared ignored the comment and looked back at Sam's house instead. Paul followed his gaze.

"So, what's the deal here?"

Jared shrugged. "All I know is that she's sticking her nose where it doesn't belong." He gestured with his head towards the edge of the forest. Paul followed.

He would take the northern patrol today. Since Jared was running the eastern one, he would be out longer than the others. No wonder, then, that he was pushing a little for haste.

"And that she doesn't see it that way."

Paul frowned. "What is she seeing differently?" His thoughts were already beginning to drift. The forest was doing that to him. Here the wolf was boss, even if Paul was standing on two legs.

"That it's none of her business. She works at the Tribal School. Is a counsellor there. Psychology, social work. That kind of stuff."

Paul involuntarily glanced back towards the house.

"Is that so?!"

"Started asking questions when Brady stopped coming to school."

"Ah." That actually explained a lot. "She's one of those."

Jared looked at him questioningly. "One of who?"

"The kind that imagines she cares what happens to dirty little Indian kids."

Jared was no Jacob with the sun practically shining out of his ass when he wasn't whining around, but he was a lot more positive than Paul.

"I don't think that's fair, man. Sam says she's decent. Just stubborn."

"Is that what Sam says?"

A scrutinising look rolled over Paul.

"What, was he supposed to tell you that?" Jared reached into the waistband of his shorts. They were far enough out of sight now, the forest thick and dark closing in around them. Only a few broken branches on the ground told those who knew, that men turned into giant wolves in this place a few times a day.

"Not the kind of story that usually interests you, dude!"

Paul didn't get a chance to reply. Jared's pants had disappeared and his bare ass was briefly visible, before fur seemed to shoot out of nowhere, wrapping itself around the outline of a giant wolf.

Jared. Brown fur, massive and viciously fast. He was a beast.

Paul flicked at one of his fluffy ears. Then he rubbed the wolf over the head. "Good boy," he said in his best dog-trainer voice. Which earned him the growl he had hoped for.

Satisfied, he dropped his own trousers. As always, he shoved them under one of the bushes with his foot.

Some of them tied their shorts around their ankles with elastic bands. So that they had something to wear if they had to change back unplanned. Paul had stopped doing that because he kept getting caught everywhere with that fucking thing. He didn't feel like getting strangled by a branch because of a pair of shorts.

Had almost happened. The memory was still fresh and creepy. And that was the only reason he startled when Jared gave a gurgling bark.

The wolves didn't really bark. It was more of a hoarse ... ok, it was a bark. But a rather crippled one. They were much better at howling. Especially Jacob Black. That pussy.

"Shit, man. Don't scare me like that." To say Paul flinched would be an exaggeration, but the fucking wolf could make creepy noises.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Scoobie-Doo. Almost there."

Paul emptied his head. Dropped the barrier the wolf was waiting behind and just like that, bam. Had Jared in his head and practically a thousand smells in his nose.

_What were you waiting for? The Queen of England?_

Paul shook himself. It was usually the first thing he did when he phased. Somehow it was important to get the coat right. Or something. Maybe it was his way of taking stock. Checking if everything was right and working.

_I enjoyed the breeze. Felt good, down below._

_Urgh. Dude!_

Jared wasn't quite as relaxed about the whole being naked thing as most of them, the little primrose. But it followed Paul's plan quite nicely. Jared withdrew himself and his sensibilities from Paul's thoughts and didn't probe deeper.

Smugly, the wolf lifted a leg and pissed on the nearest tree. That was another one of those things. Dominance and all that shit.

But it upset Jared's wolf, who as beta of the pack was above Paul and didn't like that sort of thing at all.

Paul earned a growl as a warning and had to watch Jared's wolf cover the scent mark of his.

He sighed. Mentally. The wolf didn't usually translate his human sensations into animal expressions. He was pretty ... wolfish that way.

_I'll smell you later, sucker._

And with those endearing words, Paul began to run.

They kept in touch. All the time. It was not possible otherwise. But they held back at the same time. Only the most necessary connection between them. That was learned with time. Prioritize thoughts. There were no real secrets among them, but there were areas that could be shielded. Only Josh couldn't really handle that yet. And so they all got his livestream in their heads. Nobody said anything about it. Each of them had started that way at one point. Collin was also out, checking the southern border, while Brady was running circles in the middle of Olympic National Park, Josh in tow. They had so many more miles to cover since the number of leeches had skyrocketed. And since their pack had lost first three wolves and then two more.

_Don't get upset, Paul._

_Shut your fucking gob, Collin._

_Why does he always have to get so worked up?_

It was a question that didn't address anyone specifically. And Paul had to admit that he gave Collin credit for having the balls to ask it in the first place.

_He's on his period._

This came from Jared.

Baby Alpha's whole crying made me grow ovaries, Paul responded.

Brady liked that, they all felt it because of the amused vibes that flooded into the mind-link. He was usually the quiet type.

Joshua was still too much of a freshman to pick up on much of it. Every transformation was new and unfamiliar to him, the animal aspect almost too much for him. Paul remembered his early days darkly. The rush of anger, the high from all the adrenaline. The pain. Everything was color, everything was sound and smell, everything just a lot to handle. Everyone reacted to it differently. Paul with anger. It was his way of putting everything in perspective. To let the unimportant burn away and to stay in flow.

_Anything in weird?_

_Lots of bloodsucking miasma in the air. But nothing out of the ordinary._ Collin sent them an olfactory impression of the area around the northern Quinault area, the current southern edge of their normal circuit. Paul promptly responded with an acknowledgement from Ozette Lake.

_To think that all they have to do is cross an invisible line and then they can kill innocent people...._

That was Brady.

_Yeah. And thanks to Jake, we can't rip them to shreds because of it._

Several images of bloodthirsty scenarios followed, in which wolves actually tore apart the cold, stinking freaks. They sent them back and forth between each other, an unconscious matching of imaginations and appetites. It happened sometimes and was part of their way of communicating.

Wolves were the natural enemy of vampires. It was in their blood. It was how they functioned. It was bad enough that they had to suppress that instinct.

 _It's not Jake's fault, Paul. He imprinted on the girl. What was he supposed to do?_ Jared, the eternal voice of reason.

 _Fight it._ Paul would do it. The pack came first. Always. Period. And even if this mystical bullshit made him go completely insane, he would at least try. How could one suddenly become a different man? The partners, soul mates - the word alone was such crap that it sucked just to think it - were supposed to complete. Fill the void. Make the best of the man. Be the other side of the coin.

So if little pussy Jacob decided to go against the pack, to go against his brothers and side with the enemy, that had to have been part of his decision. Part of him. And that was what made Paul so angry. It showed just how fucking indifferent the pack had been to Jake. And Paul couldn't forgive that.

I don't even know if he could. The feeling when I looked at Kim, it just was way too strong.

Jared was right. That was what made it worse. The situation was complicated, Paul knew that too. But he liked to simplify things. Black and white. What was so hard about that? But he backed Sam's decision to leave Jake's pack in peace and fight alongside them against the soon-to-arrive bloodsuckers. The enemies of his enemies ... were his enemies.

Aw, crap. At least there finally would be blood.

Still, there were too many bloodsuckers around because of the truce. Human sucking bloodsuckers. And all because Jake, the pathetic traitor, hadn't gone through with his original plan to kill a hybrid monster baby.

No. He'd looked her in the eye and the world had suddenly turned pink or some shit.

Imprinting. And vampires. The dark, evil place where horror was born.

You didn't stand a chance. At least not with imprinting. That's what it seemed like. But was it really?

_Yes, Paul. It really is like that._

Sometimes it was annoying, this mind reading.

_You'll understand when it's your turn._

The thought alone made him gag.

 _The idea of dancing to some pussy's bidding all my life and finding it all grand is just pathetic. I'd rather lick a leech without biting i_ t.

They all shook simultaneously at this image.

 _What do you want to do, Paul?_ This question was channeled into the pack consciousness by Collin.

_Actually fighting it?_

_Maybe I don't have to. Maybe it only happens to those who, like little girls, are begging to be imprinted._

They knew a little bit about the process and the background, but otherwise they were all pretty much in the dark about the imprinting thing. The only thing they knew for sure was that it was a mystery. One that no one really wanted to question and for which they should be grateful.

Even after the latest events.

Amusement buzzed over from Jared.

_I'm looking forward to showing Sam that you feel that way about it. It must have been a while since he was called a little girl._

Well, fuck.

_Fuck you, Jared!_

Kim will take care of that, thank you very much. I don't have to do it myself anymore.

 _There are minors present._ That was Brady. He really was a wuss.

_Hey!!_

Paul sent him a picture of a blooming mimosa.

_You're an asshole, Paul._

_And that you may never forget it, brother._

Paul startled a few squirrels in hibernation and chased a rabbit out of its burrow just for fun. He followed a few bloodsucker tracks, but found nothing of concern. Nothing except the fact that there were fucking bloodsucker tracks on their territory without being allowed to fucking track them down and tear them up.

Again, the image bounced back and forth in pack consciousness. The satisfying feeling of ripping a vampire to shreds.

What they had to settle for these days.

_I'm turning._

Collin had already finished his round, but Brady and Josh still had some territory ahead of them that Jared hadn't covered on his eastward route.

Paul had swung off at the Makah Reservation and headed back down through Lake Pleasant and Beaver.

_I'm checking the airport as well._

Not that he expected anything there. After all, it wasn't like those bloodsuckers traveled by plane. And the ones they were waiting for were something like fucking royalty. Paul had no idea how this was supposed to go down. Still. He felt better checking the area.

_Almost through here. Brady, I'll join you on the way back. Make sure you have Mount Olympus surrounded when that happens. Have Josh run up a couple hundred meters._

Jarded was a good beta.

The answer was the wolfish equivalent of a _yes sir_.

_I'll save you a steak, loser._

Paul didn't even know if there would be steak. It didn't matter. This wasn't about details. It was a constant joke between them all.

_Better for you. Then I don't have to beat it out of you._

_I'd go back on my word to see that._

Jared sniffed on some bear shit in response.

Olfactory bashing was one of the highlights of pack consciousness.

Paul was still laughing as he phased in the woods behind Sam's house.

Sometimes their fate really sucked. But it definitely had its advantages.

Sam met him at the door. "News?"

Paul shook his head. "A few leads up north, more down south. Fucking bloodsuckers."

Sam pressed his lips together. "That's to be expected. They've got to be hunting somewhere."

"How about in hell?" Sam didn't even smile. This shit was an imposition on all of them, but Sam's huge sense of responsibility made it a hundred times worse for him. From Em, Paul knew Sam was barely sleeping. But he shouldered it with the stoic acceptance of a true leader.

"How's Josh doing?" inquired Sam, as Paul wiped his feet with a towel. "He's smart. He'll get the hang of it soon." With a groan, he rose "Could even let some conscious thoughts through at the end."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. He seemed miles away. Probably at Cuzo Sepphron's, to whom it would be happening soon. Or with some other poor boy. There weren't that many left before things started getting fucking too young. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Paul knew Sam had considered sending the boys away. But that would cause more questions and damage than the transformation. Which hopefully could be easily turned off at some point, when the members of the pack simply stopped calling the wolves. They knew that normal life would be possible then. That was their plan. It wasn't a good one. But it was the best one they had.

"Hey, Paul."

Paul smiled even before she showed herself in the open doorway to the living room. Her face was slightly flushed, her dark silky hair a curtain on both sides. Emily radiated calm and home. "Smells good," Paul greeted her. But whatever Emily cooked always smelled good.

"Huh. You're not getting any of that until you shower, you dirty werewolf. Have you been rolling in poop or what?" She regarded him with a critical eye.

Then she shuddered. "Knowing you, it was something a lot grosser."

Paul grinned and raised an arm. Made a show of sucking in the aroma from under his armpit.

"Hmm. Animalistic. I like it."

Her lips trembled. She wasn't nearly as humourless as she liked to pretend.

"Oh, I believe you." She turned.

"Use the downstairs bathroom. I don't want your mess upstairs."

"Yes, ma'm." Paul exchanged an amused glance with Sam, who, was staring at Emily's ass with stars in his eyes.

Paul rolled his eyes.

"There are fresh towels in the closet under the stairs," she shouted at him from the kitchen. She wasn't really competition for his mom, but Em was pretty awesome.

"Thanks, sugar." Sam was too distracted to hear what Paul had called his fiancée. Because otherwise, that was off limits. Not that Paul stuck to it.

Grinning, he made his way to the cupboard under the stairs.

The irony was not lost on him. Paul liked books. And Harry Potter was a classic. However, fantastic worlds had lost their appeal to him since he was part of one himself. Crappy stuff that legends were made of. It stopped being cool when it became real.

No one wrote in the stories of flea bites and all the other shit that sucked.

Most of the time, Paul didn't have much of a problem with their fate. He loved the fucking wolf. There was something in him that had been there before and was now allowed to come out. His mother had resisted a diagnosis - she distrusted the medical system since Paul's dad died; blamed the doctors for that - but a couple of teachers had thrown around that alphabet salad: ADH or something.

An excuse because they didn't know how to deal with him. That's what his mom insisted, anyway.

Paul wasn't sure. A little attention deficiency had never hurt anyone.

He knew his temper could run hot real quick. And there had been something dark in him even before his father died. A hole or absence of light. Something that never filled, no matter how much he ate or drank or played or ran. No matter how much he cursed or fought. It was always there. And it was driving him crazy.

Since his transformation, it had gotten better and worse at the same time. More opportunities to let it out, but the hole had grown.

He groaned as he stretched towards the tiny shower' tap, trying to get rid of his shorts at the same time. Supposedly, everyone in the pack moved with a certain grace. Like predators, that's what ... someone had called it once. Paul had memorized it because he'd choked on his laugh and Jared had broken one of Paul's ribs when he had helpfully slapped him on the back. At this moment, however, crouching and hunched over, one leg still tangled in his shorts with his prick dangling, Paul didn't feel especially graceful.

He cursed as he crashed into the bar holding the shower curtain, causing it to snuggle up against his ass. Paul tried to peel off the wet polyester, but it stuck to his leg. In this straitjacket of a shower Paul had no way to avoid the clingy son of a bitch.

Sighing, he gave up and sped up the washing. He hated using soap, the smell always burning his nose, even if it was perfume free - Em wasn't allowed to buy anything else. That was Sam's instruction, not the pack's; although they were all very grateful for it.

However, the soap was the compromise they had to make if they were to have any hopes for dinner.

The shower curtain crept between his legs as Paul soaped his feet. A delicate, sensitive place and Paul flinched as the disgusting material grazed his testicles. He didn't mind a bit of ball fondling in theory, but he didn't appreciate the association of the plastic-like substance on his crown jewels at all. It smelled too much like medical examination and disposable gloves.

Bend forward, please.

In his attempt to dodge the assaulting shower curtain, Paul bumped his elbow on the stainless steel amateur. A sharp nerve pain that shot up to his stomach followed.

"Fucking, testicle-licking shower crappy curtain. Fuck you!"

He gave the shower curtain a whack. Jared's amused voice came through the door. "Dude, what are you doing in there! There's a strict ban on masturbation in this house."

Paul snorted under the shower like a wet dog.

First, he highly doubted it. And second, he would never be so disrespectful. Even if the latent scent of the secretary lingering in the house had given him a subtle half-boner when he'd walked through the door.

Here in the bathroom, it wasn't noticeable, and therefore not something to think about. Which was a small relief.

"This bathroom is as small as a freaking thimble." Paul hated the downstairs bathroom.

"What did you do to have to shower here?"

It was indeed some kind of punishment, deliberate or not, to have to shower in the small bathroom.

"I was too impressive and awesome. Some people just can't handle that."

Jared laughed throatily, proving once again why he was Paul's best friend. They had grown up as neighbours and shared almost everything.

Except girlfriends, because ... urgh.

Jared slammed his fist against the door.

"Hurry up, man. I'm really hungry."

Paul's response was a grunt. He was washing his hair and didn't want to get water in his mouth.

When Paul joined the others in the living room, Jared wasn't there, but the sound of running water came from upstairs.

Paul exchanged a dark look with Emily, him scowling because Jared didn't have to shower in that rabbit pen of a bathroom and she because he hadn't dried his hair and was dripping all over the floor. But somehow you had to unload some passive aggressiveness. At least he didn't piss on the floor. Although ... liquid was liquid.

Maybe he was more wolfish than he sometimes realized himself.

Because he didn't like to be predictable, Paul wordlessly turned to get a towel for his head.

When he returned, Em casually patted his cheek. At least she didn't stoop to saying good boy like he had to Jared a few hours ago.

Paul grinned at the thought.

"What's with the grin, Pauli?"

Only Em was allowed to call him Pauli. She had lived two houses down from him when Paul was little. Somehow they had all grown up together, but Emily had been Paul's sister's girlfriend. That's why he knew her in her pyjamas. From girls' pyjama parties his eardrums still remembered.

He just shrugged.

"Why doesn't Collin have to shower?"

Junior sat at the table reading some comic book. Completely unshowered.

Sam answered that. "Because he didn't roll in crap."

Paul frowned.

"I didn't roll in-" Too late he realized Sam had been joking. He didn't usually do that. Not any more.

Maybe that's why Paul felt a little sour.

"A joke? What's the matter, Alpha, did Em let you have some while I was in the shower?" His eyes fell on Collin, who strained not to look in their direction. "And the kid was watching?"

Paul raised his eyebrows dramatically, while Collin's ears got so red he could use them as a flash light.

"Watch it, little retarded whelp," Sam growled, his voice a low rumble. He didn't make frequent use of his physical superiority. Mostly intimidated unintentionally rather than intentionally.

However, he didn't let the pack walk all over him. Which was important.

But Paul had turned third out of them. Questioning authority, that's what he defined himself by. It was sort of Paul's job. And it came as naturally as breathing.

Sam was aware of that. But Sam still hated it.

"Don't let him get to you." Emily caressed Sam's head. There was so much tenderness in that tiny gesture that it made Paul uncomfortable to watch.

"You know how he is."

Paul thanked her with a wink and a grin. Emily just shook her head as she nuzzled her fiancé's neck. That was all it took to calm Sam down. Who looked like he would purr if it were anatomically possible for him to.

"Born to raise hell." It was a song title and the story of Paul's life.

"What can I say," Paul replied, leaning against the wall behind him. "There are demons in my head."

Sam opened a disapproving eye, but when he spoke, his voice just sounded tired.

"You should learn to respect your boundaries. And not keep jumping over them like a schoolgirl jumping rope."

Emily smiled, while Paul's face contorted at the image.

"Not cool, Dude."

Collin chuckled and Paul gave him a smack on the back of the head.

It wasn't a hard punch. A casual back-slap.

But Collin's head collided with the tabletop from the force, unchecked and with an impressive crack. Blood spurted, Collin groaned, and Emily got a terrible fright. Which was probably the main reason for Sam's reaction. After a quick look at Em - hands in front of her mouth and eyes wide but not too deeply shocked - and Collin - bloody nose, head thrown back but otherwise unharmed, he fixed Paul.

Dark fire flickered in Sam's eyes and Paul felt the disorienting pull of opposite impulses. To fight or flee. He raised his hands defensively.

"Hey, no harm done. It's healing already, see?"

Wrong reaction.

A deep rumble came from Sam and his face screamed murder. He grabbed Paul with hands like vices and forced his head down.

A growl so animal and so alpha settled into Paul's bones, filling some part of the void there. A hollow pit that had always existed and always longed to be filled. Only that nothing ever fit into it or found its way there.

Except in moments like these.

"No. Fights. In. The. House!" Sam held him so tightly that Paul couldn't nod, and the alpha growled even louder.

"Sam."

Emily didn't interfere with pack matters. She didn't undermine Sam's authority. But it was her job to calm him. And it always made her a little nervous when he raised his voice in the house, which was why Sam usually didn't do it.

"Get out of here, you little shit!", Sam snarled so darkly that the words were hard to make out.

He gave Paul a shove that would have thrown anyone else across the room.

Paul sighed and surrendered to the punishment. No dinner for him. And that was after the ordeal with the dwarf shower.

"I'm sorry, Collin," Paul called, opening the door. "Sorry, Emy."

He was quite capable of recognizing his mistakes. And to feel guilty about it.

"No pwobwm, Pauw."

A broken nose sucked, all right. But Collin would likely be completely healed by midnight.

Emily kept quiet. Not because she was mad. But rather because she was whispering some sugary nonsense into Sam's ear and was distracted.

The cool night air welcomed him.

Crisp December cold that turned the humidity from the surrounding area into lazy mist. Paul stopped and breathed. Both hands at his sides, bare feet on the chilly, wet ground.

He allowed the cold to roll over him. It was pleasant. Soothing.

He heard Jared ask about him inside the house, and Sam curt reply. Jared's sigh. Paul grinned. Yes, he was annoying. But this was his family. They loved him. Whether they wanted to or not.

Paul raised his right shoulder and crunched his neck, inwardly grappling with the prospect of frozen pizza and putting his ancient sandwhichmaker to use, when the kitchen window opened.

"Hey, dumbass." Jared leaned on the windowsill, grinning, the welcoming glow of fellowship and a dinner worthy of the name around his dark skull like a fucking halo. "Sam says to take the bike to Nora Taylor. Then he'll think twice about banning you."

Paul frowned for a moment, having trouble putting the name together. Then something snapped in his mind.

Little Red Riding Hood.

Little Red Riding Hood's name was Nora Taylor.

In his mind, he had just continued to call her the secretary. Or little Red. Her real name had disappeared somewhere between traces of bloodsuckers and the smell of the forest.

Now it flared up all the more clearly. Actually, that should have made him sit up and take notice. But it didn't.

Later he would blame starvation.

"Uh-hu." Paul scratched his head. "What was that about today, anyway? Her and the girl. Was quite the drama."

Jared shrugged. Then he grinned.

"Maybe Sam will tell you, if you're a good boy."

Paul gave Jared a feigned look of disappointment. "This is what you've been waiting for all this time, huh?"

"Maybe."

Sam's growl came from the background. "Lahote, get off your ass. The bike's in the shed."

"Can I take your truck?" There was nothing wrong with Paul's truck, but he could ask.

A car key hit him unexpectedly in the head before it fell to the ground.

Paul's mouth formed a soundless, over-articulated _ow_. He rubbed the spot that had been hit.

Emily, who had come up next to Jared, looked strained, as if she was trying not to smile.

"The address?" asked Paul, bending down for the car keys.

"Don't give it to him, Em!" Jared's lips curled in a sneer. "Let him sniff it out." He paused dramatically and his eyes narrowed, the way they always did when he was making a joke. Jared had a miserable poker face.

"Like a good boy."

Even Emily noticed that Jared was insanely keen on this dog reference. She gave him an concerned look. Paul just shook his head in pity.

"What?"

"Not funny any more, man."

Jared snorted and pulled away from the window sill. "Whatever."

Paul exchanged an amused glance with Emily. Then he smiled. "The address?"

"I think she lives near the Bogachiel River."

"You think?"

Emily smiled a small, subtle smile. It was that smile that had always appeared on her face before she'd stuck a handful of sand down his pants or dropped a crab in his lap when they where little.

"I guess you really do need to do a little sniffing ... like a good boy."

Paul regarded her wordlessly. With an expressionless face.

"Really?!" he said tonelessly. "Really, Em?!"

Her smile widened.

Many thought she was a gentle soul. Maternal and nurturing. But Paul knew the truth. He formed a gun with his hand and pointed it at her. "Bang!"

She leaned forward to close the window.

"And be polite, Paul," she called to him. "The little girl is in serious trouble. And her sister is very worried. So for once in your life, don't be yourself."

Paul digested the new information. Sisters, then. That was interesting.

"Problems?" He snorted. "I call it a big fat eating disorder. And the pun isn't intended."

Emily paused in her movement and frowned. "Don't act like you're such an insensitive klutz. I know for a fact you're not." She turned her head and spoke over her shoulder to the others. As if they couldn't hear her right now, as clearly as Paul could hear her. "He cried big crocodile tears when we watched The Fox and the Hound. His sister was never aloud to see that movie again."

Paul curled his upper lip.

"The story's getting boring, Em. That was over ten years ago." With a scowl, he listened to the others laughing. Jared's was especially loud.

"And the movie is fucking traumatic for little kids. Gives you nightmares and shit."

Even Sam chuckled.

Oh well. At least that's what the story was good for.

Paul turned around before Emily closed the window. He heard the others' voices anyway. Even as he retrieved the little girl's bike from the shed, he could follow the conversation. They were talking about what they always talked about. The pact. Jake. The bloodsuckers.

Paul realized he wasn't that unhappy about not being there. Would only make him angry again. Just sucked that he wouldn't get to eat.

He waved to Brady and Josh, who were trotting out of the woods, then lifted the bike into the bed of the pickup. It rumbled a bit and briefly Paul considered securing it.

Almost immediately he decided against it. Might as well call it passive aggressive. He just didn't give a shit.

At home, Paul threw a couple of waffles in the toaster and ate two right out of the package without warming them, while he hunted for a clean shirt. He reached for his last pair of sneakers and waited impatiently for the toaster to finish. In the end, he pulled out the waffles, even though they weren't done.

The last one had found its way into his stomach before he had even turned onto La Push Road.

He was still hungry. But still, he enjoyed the cool breeze through the open window and the salty ocean air. Okay, He was a little miffed because Sam had scolded him. A little annoyed because he was hungry, but all in all, Paul's mood was better than it had been all day.

Maybe he was a little weird.

Finding her house was easier than he thought. However, he undoubtedly would have been faster if he hadn't had to use those damn impractical streets.

Paul didn't even have to stop and stick his nose into the wind.

It was a pretty, little L-shaped building with a fenced-off lot and carport, under which the red Suzuki sat, shyly reflecting the light from Sam's headlights.

Even without the car, Paul would have known. Maybe he was a fucking clairvoyant or something, but he just knew.

The smell wasn't strong when he got out, Sam's truck parked behind the Suzuki.

The river was close, carrying its boggy, rivery water smell over here, the thickly grown conifers doing their part.

Paul didn't like how far out of town Red Riding. Two women on the outskirts of town - there was only one man in the surrounding houses, Paul could smell it. A few years ago, that wouldn't have been a problem.

Now it caused an uneasy feeling behind his knees.

But it was none of his business, and no one would ask his opinion anyway, so Paul shrugged it off and lifted the bike off the truck.

Soft light fell on the manicured grass of the driveway where it wasn't paved, filtered through what looked like curtains. But Paul had no idea about shit like that. It looked warm and inviting. Nice. The kind of family home a man liked to come back to in the evening.

Paul frowned. He could almost feel his balls retracting into his stomach.

He pressed his lips together and walked to the front door. A wreath hung at the green wooden door. Twigs and berries of some sort.

Paul pressed the doorbell. There was no nameplate.

He heard the clatter of pots and then footsteps. He registered aromas that made his stomach rumble like an old truck, and his spirits lifted another few percent.

It smelled good.

A door opened and Paul got ready for the encounter. He was looking forward to it. His body tensed, and as it did he realized he was holding the bike unnaturally high. He barely felt its weight, but still.

They had to at least strive for some appearance of normality. Most people were willing to overlook so many of the things that were obviously not normal, but one had to be careful still.

Hence the shirt and shoes. It was impractical, but off the reservation they were mandatory.

Sam's Rule. Alpha Order.

Paul dropped the bike. It didn't have good suspension and made some pretty tortured noises before leaning against his hip. Paul frowned.

Hopefully it hadn't bent. He risked a glance down as the door opened.

Paul looked up. And blinked. Not because of the light that was now shining into his eyes, because that was actually quite dim and warm. But because it took him a moment to realize that he was standing at the right door.

Red seemed so changed that she could have been a different person. If it hadn't been for the scent. And that was absolutely spot on.

Right!

Paul stopped breathing for a brief moment while he processed the other sensory stimuli.

Her hair was down, and in the indirect light that illuminated her from behind, it was as clearly red as a beacon. A fluffy, wild cloud around her pale face that lay in shadow.

The only thing clearly visible were her glasses.

Fucking glasses.

Absolutely against his will and just as suddenly as before, the blood rushed to his dick.

The glasses weren't even particularly sexy. No wide frame that screamed librarian and conjured up obscene images - Paul had never been able to understand that fetish anyway. At least until now.

A brown frame and round lenses. Practical. Cute.

Shit, man.

She'd showered, her skin still soft and rosy, her natural scent stronger.

It was as if the water had washed down her dragon persona with it. She seemed smaller and more approachable. Gone was the secretary outfit that hadn't suited her anyway. Instead, she wore a giant sweater and she was barefoot.

Barefoot!

Paul tore his gaze away from her bare toes, which flashed vulnerably from beneath the wide hem of her sweatpants.

Maybe it was the protective palm of her home opening up behind her. Or it truly had been the shower. How the hell was Paul supposed to know?

But the difference was huge. So huge that he was still holding his breath like a fucking pussy. At least he was quick with the inventory. He had little desire to seem like a stalker.

"Yes?" She looked confused. And it was his cue.

"Hey."

She blinked. A tired flutter of lashes over dark shadowed eyes.

"Hello." She recognized him. Paul saw it. Still, she didn't know who he was.

"Paul," he helped her out. "Sam's friend."

A sigh lifted her shoulders as a tiny bit of the steel he'd witnessed this afternoon flooded her spine.

"Yes. I remember. Good evening. Paul." The brief pause before his name amused him. Oh, she remembered. She remembered very well.

Paul grinned. This time amused, not intimidating, and it had a whole different effect. He saw her staring at him.

"I got something of yours," he said, nodding his chin toward the bike at his side.

It took her a while to follow her gaze, as if his body were a ladder, her eyes climbing down. It took her even longer to understand what she was looking at.

"The bike."

She looked at him as if he had suddenly grown two new heads. It had sounded like she wasn't quite sure and would rather wait for his confirmation.

He didn't oblige her, but let the moment drag on, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"Thank you," she said nearly ten seconds later. A long time when you were simply staring at each other. Until at some point it became too uncomfortable even for Paul. His fingers began to twitch.

"Hey!" He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Right in front of her face... "Anyone home in there?"

She startled and her head jerked back.

"Yeah." She blinked abruptly. A hand felt along the front door in an unconscious search for grip.

"Yes. I-I'm surprised." Her gaze flickered to the bike, then back to him. She was considerably shorter than he was, Paul estimated her to be a few inches more than five feet, so she had to crane her head back, even though she was standing several paces away from him.

"Didn't think we'd hand it over again?" He was just teasing her a bit, though his tone didn't give that away, sounding deadly serious. Paul, in contrast to Jared, had an _excellent_ poker face.

Again she blinked, her mouth a small, surprised _O_.

"No, that-"

Paul shrugged. "I'll admit, I wanted to keep it, but Sam wasn't thrilled.... He has a problem with these persistent prejudices against Native Americans."

A little tickle. That was usually a quick way to find out if someone felt guilty for harbouring those very prejudices. Paul grinned wickedly. But Red didn't react as expected. She seemed neither shocked nor caught. He wondered if perhaps she hadn't understood him.

Only for a moment, though, because then she suddenly tilted her head and looked at him with a whole new level of interest.

As if she had noticed something about him.

Not knowing what had caused the change, Paul was uncomfortable with her searching gaze.

Therefore, he did what he always did when he wanted to piss someone off.

He sniffed back his snot and twisted his lips into some expression rap artists loved to make. Crossed his arms in front of his chest. His best gangster pose.

It looked pretentious and aggressive. Provocative. Even if it was pretty stupid. But most people didn't even notice because they were too busy looking the other way or getting angry.

Not Little Red, though. She obviously wasn't buying it and continued to stare at him. Now obviously calculating.

Okay. He had underestimated her. There was a brain in her pretty little head. A perceptive one that _noticed_ things.

All right. He could deal with that.

"Thank you," she repeated after he eased his stance a bit. She spoke slowly. Thoughtfully. A little like she was talking to a child. Or a crazy person. Which probably made him a crazy person. At least in her eyes. Well. He had been called worse.

He saw her take a deep breath, expecting a big speech. Instead, she repeated herself again.

"Thank you, I..."

Okay. This was starting to get annoying. It was like trying to feed a hamster with a spoon. A very, very small spoon.

"Yes?" If he sounded a little impatient, it was because he was.

"I'm just thinking..." she considered the bike with that direct look that seemed to be her way of looking at things. Or people.

At least when she wasn't angry.

"I'm thinking about whether it's actually good to have it here."

When she looked up again, there was absolutely nothing left of the Drill Sergeant Paul had met that afternoon.

She seemed years younger and so much more approachable that she seemed like a different person altogether.

Above all, she seemed tired. As flattened as Paul had felt today before she had shown up with her sister, all that drama in the wake. She looked like someone who was at a loss.

"When she is starting to just take off..." Red disengaged her hand from the door and ran it over her forehead. Dug a deep groove in the skin of her temple, leaving a red welt. Even her glasses shifted with the movement.

Red clearly didn't do things halfway.

Paul was about to grab her hand to stop her from maltreating herself further when she sighed. A bone-deep sigh that echoed inside him. His eyes narrowed. It just seemed like they were talking about more than a bike here.

"I was just thinking, maybe I shouldn't give her the opportunity to."

She looked down at the ground.

Okay. When had this become a fucking therapy session? It also had to be quite a weight on her shoulders if she was going to start blurting it out here so easily. In front of him, of all people.

Besides, was she serious about this shit?"

"Really?"

He raised his eyebrows septically as she looked up. With his left hand, he absent-mindedly tapped the saddle of the bike.

"Have you ever been a teenager?"

The question threw her more than his talk of theft.

"What?"

Paul rolled his eyes.

"Listen. If she wants to run away, your little sister, she'll find a way. This-" he quickly gestured to the front of the house, "isn't really fucking Fort Knox. She's got two legs, right? She'd just _walk_."

Red seemed to think this through more sharply than she needed to.

She pushed her glasses up with her index finger. Hesitated. Stared into space.

Then she exhaled. Jerkily.

And then she did something that shocked Paul.

She smiled. The first smile he'd ever seen from her. And it ... did something to him.

"You're right." She nodded. Still smiling.

Her shoulder moved. A small movement, a tiny shrug.

"And then I guess it's better if she has the bike." She looked down at Paul's side.

"In these times, no one should risk their life because they can't run fast."

She did something with her lips. Pressed them together or something. Dimples appeared as a result that hadn't shown when she smiled.

It caught Paul's attention for a moment, so he didn't understand the meaning of her words until a moment later.

Those times ... she meant the attacks.

He wondered if he should let her believe that.

The pack made sure the truce was kept, but Paul didn't trust the bloodsuckers. There were just _too many_ of them. And who knew what the future would bring? Besides, it was better when there were as few people as possible in the woods. It reduced the chance of someone seeing something there that wasn't meant for human eyes.

"Well. Seems to me that whatever is responsible for _this_ wouldn't even be matched by a 100 ps motor."

Paul didn't have to specify what he meant by responsible for _this_. The news was full of it. And he had fought it less than half a year ago. Even if Little Red Riding Hood didn't know that.

Again she gave him that look. The one that could lead one to believe she knew more than she could know.

He shrugged and grinned.

"So, live your day like it's your last."

She was silent for so long he thought she wouldn't answer. Then she did.

"Is that your motto, ..."

"Paul," he helped her along.

"Paul." She sounded a little amused. In that gentle, feminine way that no man could ever quite understand. And somehow he got the impression that she hadn't really forgotten his name. Little Red Riding Hood was playing games. And Paul didn't know which one.

He fucking hated that.

Paul scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't know. Could be."

She jerked her chin as if nodding to herself, but slowed it down at the last moment. "That explains a lot." Her smile had become more delicate, only minimally playing around her lips.

"It does?" His voice sounded more energetic than he intended. Impatience and the first lambent flames of anger licked at his temper. She was starting to piss him off.

He hated it when people just _assumed_. Took assumptions as true without knowing shit.

Well, most of the time Paul did it on purpose. Let people make their assumptions, even pushed them in that direction.

Sometimes it was good to keep others' expectations low.

But that was _his_ choice.

He hated it when it just happened and he had no control over it.

The superior attitude. Like she knew him.

She didn't fucking know anything about him.

But then she smiled again. A sweet, honest smile. So devoid of falseness and ulterior motives that Paul wondered when he'd ever been smiled at in such a way by a stranger.

Women smiled at him. Yes. That happened a lot. Naturally.

Sexually. Flirtatious. Insecure. Mocking.

But just like that.

Nice.

Friendly.

Sweet.

It disarmed him instantly. And he figured that he was the one who had assumed.

That he had misjudged her. _Colossally_ wrong.

"Thank you. For the bike. I appreciate it. Really." She laughed in little self-deprecating laughter. "I completely forgot about it." She shook her head. Again, so without guile and completely disarming. "I don't know where my head is right now. With everything that's going on-"

She stopped.

"But I don't want to bore you. Thank you. Really."

She reached out as if to touch him.

Instinctively, Paul tensed, not sure he wanted her touch.

She either changed her mind or noticed, because her hand dropped down midway. She didn't even try to cover the movement, as many others would have.

"Thank you."

She repeated herself. And really, it should have annoyed the hell out of him. It _had_ been annoying.

Maybe it was the smell. Of _dinner_. Of a pretty girl. The warm light.

Maybe he'd been lulled into it without realizing it.

Paul stared. Little Red smiled her half-smile.

And then the decision was made.

"Something smells good," Paul said. He was playing at high stakes, and he didn't know if he was judging her correctly. And it was weird, but he really, really didn't want to go.

"Huh?" Her fine eyebrows twitched. She looked confused.

Paul seized the moment to attack.

"Something from the oven?"

Whatever it was that smelled like dinner here, it was an abundant reminder to his stomach that he'd had to pass on Emily's meatloaf. And it wasn't thrilled.

Neither was Paul.

And maybe Little Red Riding Hood was grateful enough.

"Eh, yes, I-" she faltered, seeming to only now really grasp his words, for she began to eye him thoughtfully. Her eyes darted to the bicycle at Paul's side, and in that moment he knew what she was going to do.

He was right.

Little Red Riding Hood cocked her head to one side and smiled.

"Have you eaten yet?" She opened the door a little wider, letting more of the warm light fall on the narrow paved path that led here from the driveway.

That was all it took. Paul grinned.

"That was the magic word."

For a brief moment, their smiles seemed to melt together.

And wasn't that total bullshit!

"Where do you want this?" He nodded toward the bike.

"Oh," she had turned, standing facing the door. Her eyes rested on the bike for a moment. That she made a small motion with her hand. "Just leave it there."

Paul didn't even consider this stupid idea with a comment.

By now he knew she wasn't stupid. And in fact, she immediately interpreted his silence correctly.

"Garden shed," she said slowly instead, giving him an odd look. "Behind the house." She gestured him around the house with her hand.

"I'll let you in the back door."

Paul tapped his forehead with two fingers and grabbed the bike by the steering wheel.

"All right, boss."

He found the shed. And the back door. And some crudely rotted beams in the porch roof. He eyed them septically.

Then the door opened, interrupting him.

It wasn't Red, but the girl. Hannah. Red's Sister.

The soft light in the background made her features look less pointed. Unlike her big sister, she probably hadn't even had the strength for a wash, and she still smelled ... sharp. Metallic.

Sick, the wolf deduced instantly.

She stared at him wide-eyed as he came closer, but let him in without a word. Hopefully her sister had told her to, otherwise this behaviour would be suicidally dangerous.

One didn't just let strange men in through the back door.

Paul wanted to comment on that, but the moment he entered the house, he got distracted.

He blinked and stared.

No idea what he had expected. Nothing at all, probably. He hadn’t been prepared for an issue of _interior design_ , though.

"Okay," he said hesitantly, to say anything at all, and let his gaze wander.

He didn't know shit about junk like this, but everything seemed muted and soft without being girly. Just ... really beautiful.

"I didn't expect that," he said honestly.  
"I know." It was the first he'd heard from Hannah that wasn't tearful. She had a sweet voice. Still quite girlish. Innocent.  
Paul felt a surge of protective instinct sloshing around in his chest.  
That happened. It meant the wolf liked the girl.  
So she couldn't be all that wrong.  
"Nora has pretty good taste."  
It didn't necessarily sound positive, the way the little girl said it.  
"I see," replied Paul, who had spotted the TV. Not bad. Not huge, but definitely not bad. Something that wasn't sport was on mute and Paul averted his eyes.  
"Looks nice," he said, and Hannah shrugged.  
"Hmm."  
She climbed onto the sofa. She must have gotten up from there, if the little nest she'd built for herself there was any indication.  
The sofa was a leathery affair that looked inviting because of all the cushions. Still, it would be far too small for Paul. Not that he planned on settling down on it.  
Hannah grabbed one of the cushions and clutched it so fiercely that it looked like she was about to lay an egg. Her whole body was rigid and tense. The fact that she was uncomfortable radiated off her in waves.  
Paul strolled over to a row of framed pictures on the wall.  
It showed Hannah in various years of childhood, radiant and blonde, a little toothy angel. A photo of three women. One older and as blonde as Hannah, a grinning little girl in her arms and a redhead at her side.  
A mother and her two daughters.  
Like her sister, Nora was grinning broadly. She looked to be twelve or thirteen. Still clearly a girl, the delicate signs of adolescence just barely visible. Her hair was braided into two pigtails and the freckles on her nose were so numerous that it looked as if they had taken over her face. She looked happy.  
Paul looked at the other pictures. No father to be seen.  
Interesting.  
He turned to the girl, who had remained in her stupor even though three minutes must have passed.  
Paul decided to cheer her up a bit.  
"Got us on our toes today, didn't you!"  
Unlike any other teenager, this didn't bring out her inner rebel. Instead, she ducked her head and looked like guilt personified.  
"I'm sorry," she whispered. A little fairy with broken wings.  
The corners of Paul's mouth twitched.  
"No problem, kiddo." He took a step in her direction. The living room wasn't very big and he was, so he didn't have much room to move.  
"It takes a little more than that to really piss us off."  
He smiled in her direction, but she didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, but she didn't really seem to be looking. Besides, the sound was still off.  
"So," he caught her attention. "What's on?"  
Not knowing what he meant, Hannah had to look at him. Paul nodded toward the television.  
"Teen Wolf," was her quiet reply.  
Paul had to try really hard not to laugh out loud. It was really fucking funny.  
"Really."  
Hannah was too young to notice the irony in his voice, so she just nodded.  
Paul came closer, stopped at the back of the sofa, and took a closer look at the flickering images.  
"Is that a thing with you guys?"  
He saw from the periphery that the girl was shaking her head.  
"It's just me watching it. Nora hates that kind of thing. She doesn't like fantasy."  
Paul chuckled. Indeed.  
Well, if that wasn't the shittiest coincidence of all time.  
  
  
Nora heard their voices. Especially _his_ voice. As deep and sonorous as it was, one would probably be able to understand him even a few hundred meters below ground. If one should dwell there. For some strange reason.  
Nora frowned at herself and dried her hands on a dish towel. She added _proper towel in kitchen_ to her mental to-do list, then tossed the dish towel into the sink.  
Then she screwed up her face and quickly retrieved it. Wet. Of course.  
Great, Nora.  
Crumpled dish towel in hand, Nora turned off the stove and steeled her back as she straightened.  
Time to stand up to the beast.  
In fact, in this case, it was more than just a way of talking.  
This guy was just gigantic.  
You saw big people on the street, even the odd six foot six tall man. And then there was the NBL.  
But guys like him and his friends, the gang around Sam Uley ... that was a whole different calibre. They held themselves in a way that made them seem even bigger. A kind of self-assuredness, as if they knew exactly who they were and what they wanted out of life: for it to throw itself at their feet. Well, Nora had never liked having anyone to look up to.  
He stood with his back to the door, his big body even more enormous in her small living room. Logically, he wasn't a giant.  
He was taller than most men.  
But it was the muscles that made it all seem so extraordinary.  
Often tall men appeared gangly. That's why his figure had to look so monstrous to Nora's eyes. Now, without the look of permanent challenge on his face, she saw that nothing about him was actually extreme.  
He was ... well built. Solid strands of sharply accentuated musculature at the shoulders and back. No mushy masses of fat muscle, but genuinely distinguishable muscle groups.  
She had had a semester of general anatomy and knew that was rare. Bodybuilders worked ages to accentuate this, but targeted training caused muscles to hypertrophy, creating a body image that didn't look aesthetic to many.  
Paul here though, didn't look like a bodybuilder.  
None of the hunks Nora had seen on the reservation today looked like that. She had only said it to make a point.  
Even Sam Uley, the tallest of the six, looked big and muscular, but in a ... graceful way.  
Nora knew it didn't add up. That made it all the more bizarre.  
But Paul's back wasn't monstrous. He was ... attractive. If you were into that type. The one who could break your neck with one wrong move.  
Nora preferred men who were less intimidating.  
In reflection, it would seem strange to her that she was thinking of this. About men and which type of them she herself preferred. And that she did it while she was staring at Paul's back. Because usually she didn't think about such things at all. Nora usually didn't even notice men.  
Of course she noticed men. But only as sexless people who populated her environment. She didn't look closely. She didn't think about them.  
They were just ... there.  
But at that moment, Nora was merely trying to suppress the trembling of her hands and to understand why she had invited this huge guy with the smart mouth inside.  
Because of the bike. Right. That had been nice of him.  
  
Nora heard Hannah talking about the show she was watching. Then her own name.  
She heard Paul laughing. A dark, rumbling sound that unnerved and then annoyed her a little. She would not be afraid of him. This was her house. And she would chase him out with a broom anytime he didn't behave properly. He might break in the process, her broom, but it was a matter of principle, after all.  
"Is that so?" she heard Paul say. In a tone that scratched her ears.  
"I don't mind fantasy," Nora said in response. She heard how strained her voice sounded. A little breathless. Hannah turned her head toward her, and so did Paul. He didn't seem surprised to see her standing behind them. Maybe you were less jumpy when you were as tall as he was. With the certainty in your bones that there was little in the world that would pose a threat.  
What must it be like to go through life with such overall physical superiority?  
Nora fought the impulse to stand up a little straighter when his gaze fell on her.  
She jutted her chin forward.  
"I like Buffy."  
He turned to face her fully as Hannah's interest faded again.  
"Buffy?" It wasn't really a question. More a repetition of what Nora had said, but he emphasized the word in a strange way. As if she was saying more to him than she had.  
"Yes," she said, "the vampire slayer."  
"Slayer."  
Again, that repetition.  
It might suggest he was a little dim.  
But Nora knew better by now.  
He wasn't stupid. Quite the opposite.  
Biting intelligence flashed from his gaze, if you could see past the provocative manner that just seemed to be his personality. Nora knew people well enough to know that couldn't often be the case. She guessed that he liked to let people think he was a not very intelligent ruffian with an aggression problem. At least the intelligence part was a misconception Nora herself had fallen for.  
It had probably proven useful when people underestimated him. That way he was the one who kept control.  
But his temper ... that didn't seem to be an act.  
His look was impossible for Nora to interpret, so she turned her head and addressed her sister.  
"Paul's staying for dinner, Hannah. He brought your bike over."  
She didn't mean it as a reminder of tonight's episode; they'd talked about it long enough.

But as an explanation to her sister why a tall, strange guy was having dinner with them out of nowhere. Hannah had to understand that it was about gratitude. Nothing more.

"Thank you," Hannah mumbled, resting her chin on her knees, her eyes fixed on the TV.

Well, as polite gestures go, that had been lousy.

Nora was already catching her breath to say something when Paul gestured for her to drop it.

It was probably better to talk about something like that when no strangers were present anyways. She didn't want to reprimand Hannah. Just to raise awareness.

"Do you want coffee?"

The question surprised Paul, who blinked once and then shook his head. "Too late for that."

Sure. Of course. She should have been more specific.

"I have decaf."

Apparently that was better, because he smiled. He was cute when he smiled. Some of the harshness disappeared and all the angularity melted away. He seemed more like an overgrown boy than the bully he could clearly be. Still, he seemed intimidating. But then, that could only be Nora.

"Well, then." He gestured for her to lead the way.

She felt uncomfortable, his presence so close behind her that she imagined she could feel him breathing down her neck. Which wasn't possible. But logic didn't always help to invalidate the silly little tirades the psyche put on.

Nora led him down the long hallway, past the stairs to the upper floor, to the spacious kitchen. There were two other doors on this floor. One hid a bathroom, the other the stairs to the basement where the washing machine was. Down there, Nora did yoga when she could get herself up to it.

She noticed Paul looking around intently. Not the simple interest of someone visiting someone else's home for the first time. But with a more purposeful gaze. He was looking at the ceilings and the stair railing. Nora wondered if perhaps it was his profession.

He paused in her hallway to knock on a wall. Which gave Nora time enough to grab the matching coffee pods from the ceramic jar and reach for two cups.

As she closed the closet door, she noticed Paul leaning in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her middle. Feeling a bit uneasy, she tugged at the oversized sweater she wore over old sweatpants. Not exactly a fashionable outfit, but this was her home.

So no need to feel awkward.

Logic, meet your eternal enemy: emotion.

Nora pushed the buttons and leaned against the counter top of her kitchen.

"So," he began, and Nora flinched slightly. She didn't like this at all. The kitchen wasn't small. Not for a kitchen. But it still felt like he was taking up half of it. She turned around so she wouldn't have to look at him and turned on the gas under the potato and bean stew, even though she knew it was hot enough.

There was nothing else to do. The rolls were done and remained warm in the oven, and the salad was waiting in the refrigerator.

"Is it the leeches?"

Distracted from trying not to burn the stew, which was already bubbling again, she looked over her shoulder.

"What?"

Paul was no longer at the door, but at the window. Again, Nora flinched. She hadn't realized he had moved.

Immediately she pulled the pot off the stove and turned it off. Suddenly she no longer wanted to turn her back on him.

He stood facing her and looked at her intently.

"Buffy," he said. "Is it the bloodsuckers?"

Oh. He wanted to know what she liked about the show.

The first coffee chose that moment to finish. Nora reached for it.

"I don't know."

She didn't want to put the cup directly in his hand. So she put the coffee on the table.

His gaze followed the movement and somehow this evoked the image of an animal on the prowl in Nora's mind. It was a horrifying thought and it was time for her to pull herself together.

Nora cleared her throat and placed her own cup under the machine. It had a cat on it and the letters _MEOW_. A gift from Hannah.

Nora liked cats.

"I like the jokes, I guess. The show doesn't take itself too seriously."

By the time Nora looked up from the coffee maker, Paul had grabbed his cup and was standing again in the exact spot where he had been standing before.

Not five seconds had passed and the kitchen was quiet. She hadn't heard a single sound. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

For a moment, Nora just looked at him. She didn't even think. She just stared. He returned her gaze silently, but somehow seemed ... amused. Maybe he knew he was making her nervous.

Maybe he was doing it on purpose.

The thought roused a little of her other stubbornness and she found the strength to look at him challengingly.

"What?" she broached the subject of his now obvious amusement. He had one large hand wrapped around his cup, but otherwise ignored the coffee. That smile had crept back onto his features.

"I wouldn't have taken you for someone who likes jokes very much." He shrugged. "That's all."

Nora realized she didn't like his answer. What was that supposed to mean? That she looked like she couldn't take a joke?

It almost annoyed her more that she cared about his opinion.

The coffee machine finished its second round with an appetizing gurgle. Nora ignored it.

"You don't know me." It implied what she didn't say: you can't know if I like jokes or not, you cocky jerk.

Paul took a sip from his cup, did not avert his eyes. Continued to look at her over the rim of the cup.

It seemed ... intense.

When he set the cup down, he smiled. His dark eyes sparkled and a strange tightness had formed around his lips.

"And you're _absolutely_ right about that."

~ mit Feuer gemalt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general thank you to the readers who have already strayed here. An even bigger thank you to everyone who wrote something about the first chapter.  
> You know it yourselves, feedback is the carbohydrate of the author's metabolism.  
> It is a source of energy and motivation. Like a chocolate bar ;) 
> 
> I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing. I rarely had such a great time. I am sorry for any mistakes concerning culture or language or anything else I don't know about the US. I try to do my research because I don't want to be ignorant, but it will probably still happen. Not on purpose, I assure you.  
> Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> A few words about names and time.  
> I can't remember when the Breaking Dawn Plot takes place exactly. So there probably will be mistakes too. But I really don't want to delve in this book again, nor the movie. Sorry. That's time I can use much better in other ways, because I took the liberty of introducing an OC, so the canon plot is all over the place anyway.  
> So forgive me for such "blunders".  
> You'll notice as the story progresses that I'm throwing the given age of the wolves to the wind. I will bend this as I please. Because I'm not a big fan of teen romances, not being a teen any more. Paul's biological age is raised a bit accordingly. But not by much.  
> After Brady and Collin, seven unnamed wolves join the pack in Breaking Dawn. A consequence of the high vampire population (even if temporary). I take the liberty of naming them. So don't be surprised if you stumble across names you don't recognize. 
> 
> Forgive me for typos. Please do. Or point them out to me. Thank you. Some are intentional, by the way. To mime a more colloquial tone.

**Author's Note:**

> So, Paul Lahote. I just discovered this thing. And I like it. But I'm not impressed with the female canon characters the fandom has to offer. Really, I'm not. That's why I'm venturing into the infinitely brave, perhaps infinitely stupid, realms of the original character.  
> Suspiciously eyed by some, dearly loved by others.  
> But really, all other possible parings give me herpes.  
> I don't want to offend anyone with that.
> 
> Let's talk about something else you should know (at the risk of making this indecently long): I'm not impressed by the Twilight fandom in general.  
> I don't want to offend anyone with that either.  
> Not my cup of tea. Except, the wolves. They've captured my heart forever, and it's mostly to do with some wonderful stories I've been privileged to read over the past year (see below). I just want to mention this here in case any inconsistencies come up. I usually do my homework. I stick to the facts. AU is not my thing.  
> But it is here. All the stuff I can't remember or don't want to research may cause confusion. My apologies. It is not my goal to bury myself in the Twilight universe. I am not interested in the history of vampires. So any references to possible canon errors are pointless. I mean no disrespect, but just to give you, gentle readers, a heads up.
> 
> So that I don't have to be accused of plagiaristic motives afterwards, and to give you the opportunity to inhale some wonderful pieces of fan fiction, I'd like to share with you what inspired me: 
> 
> Be Like Water - taoist elf  
> The Devil You Know - unseelie sidhe 
> 
> No, no idea is stolen, but these two stories inspired me. Is this something in the German Twilight fandom? In the English fan fiction realm, it is. And I like it. But I'm not impressed with the female canon characters that fandom has to offer. Really, I'm not. That's why I'm venturing into the infinitely brave, perhaps infinitely stupid, realms of the original character.  
> Suspiciously eyed by some, dearly loved by others.  
> But really, all other possible parings give me herpes.  
> I don't want to offend anyone with that.
> 
> Let's talk about something else you should know (at the risk of making this indecently long): I'm not impressed by the Twilight fandom in general.  
> I don't want to offend anyone with that either.  
> Not my cup of tea. Except, the wolves. They've captured my heart forever, and it's mostly to do with some wonderful stories I've been privileged to read over the past few years (see below). I just want to mention this here in case any inconsistencies come up. I usually do my homework. I stick to the facts. AU is not my cup of tea.  
> But it is here. All the stuff I can't remember or don't want to research may cause confusion. My apologies. It is not my goal to bury myself in the Twilight universe. I am not interested in the history of vampires. They simply become a means to an end in this one. So any references to possible canon errors are pointless. I mean no disrespect, but just to give you, gentle readers, a heads up.
> 
> Also, let me tell you, I'm not a native speaker. I am translating this story to the best of my ability from the original I wrote myself and please excuse confusions, linguistic errors and especially punctuation mistakes.


End file.
